My Forever Cocky Biker Encounter Read online

  “Now we show you to your…quarters.” His gaze shot to me. “Scott, take Ms. Hunter to cabin number eight.”

  “Eight?” I raised my eyebrows as one of our biker chick members, Viper, brought me the key with one of her secret smiles. “But that’s—”

  “Ms. Hunter’s new digs. Hook her up, Scott.” Loki’s eyes turned brittle and I decided to keep my mouth shut.

  “Right. Come on, Numbers. Let’s get you settled.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Numbers?”

  “Yeah.” I escorted toward the door of the club house, half the guys watching me go with envy. “That’s what you’re here for, right? To work the numbers. Seems like a good nickname.”

  “I told you. I don’t need a pet name because I’m not your pet.”

  That’s what you think. But I kept the thought to myself as she paused at the door to the infirmary where Melrose sat drinking some sort of energy drink. Oriana crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Congratulations. You got me stuck here, Melinda. Or is it really Melrose? Looks like lies are your thing.” Venom filled her voice and anger crackled in the air.

  Mel blanched, but shrugged as if it meant nothing. “It worked, didn’t it? Don’t worry, it won’t be that bad, you’ll see. Which cabin did they give you?”

  “Eight,” I said.

  Mel’s eyes widened. “But that’s my cabin.”

  “Not anymore. I signed a contract. It’s mine now.” Oriana tilted her head. “Payback’s a bitch, girlfriend.”

  I swallowed hard. The ice in her voice as she strode away could’ve frozen my balls. Note to self: don’t betray Numbers. I raised my eyebrows at Melrose as her face crumpled, tears sliding down her cheeks. I’d watched her manipulate others with that tactic, but I didn’t think it would work on Oriana. Mel had just nuked the bridge between them.

  I caught up to Oriana just in time to hold the door open for her. See? I can be a gentleman when I want to. She sailed through like a queen and I couldn’t help but admire her poise. She’d been abducted and told she couldn’t leave unless she worked for the Concrete Angels, notorious motorcycle club of the Rockies. But instead of having a flailing tantrum, she’d turned the tables on us.

  Wasn’t bad for me either, since Loki had given her cabin number eight. I lived in cabin number nine.

  “Wait up. Let me show you where you’ll be staying.” As much as I loved looking at her ass in denim, I was supposed to be directing her.

  “Look, Scott. I’m not stupid and I can read. The numbers are tacked on the front of the cabins. I can figure out which one’s mine.” She held out her hand. “I’ll take the key now.”

  Oh, no way in hell. I wasn’t gonna let this opportunity go without a fight.

  “No way, not gonna happen.” I shook my head and led the way toward our cabins. “Loki said to show you and that’s what I’m gonna do. Going against Loki’s orders isn’t smart, and I ain’t stupid either.”

  I showed her to the two cabins set away from the rest by a good twenty feet because of a stubborn Ponderosa giant who’d gotten there first. Good thing was it provided shade when the summer got hot and I didn’t mind a bit. Sometimes the sap was a bitch to get off the windows and I’d never park my bike near it, but when the bark heated up it smelled like a frickin’ vanilla candle and the shade made a difference.

  “I’ll just make sure you’re settled in.” Hell, I’d like her to be settled in between my legs, but I also didn’t want to lose my chance with her.

  She snorted but followed me under the shade of the Ponderosa to the door of cabin eight. I opened the door for her but kept the key until she inspected the inside. She narrowed her eyes at me as she stepped over the threshold and scanned the room.

  This had been our “guest cottage” for any members’ long-term friends. For the last few months it’d belonged to Melrose, Roy’s main squeeze.

  “I need a packing tote.” Oriana stood with her hands on her hips, her back to the door.

  “What?” Intelligent response, jackass.

  “I need a packing tote. I need to get rid of Mel’s crap. I’m sure she’ll want it wherever she ends up.”

  She waved at the knickknacks on every flat surface in the cabin. Even the kitchenette and bathroom had something cutesy and feminine. And pink. It looked like a Japanese anime had exploded everywhere with kitties and bows.

  “Yeah, okay. You want help clearing it all out?”

  Oriana paused, considering. She eyed me before trailing her gaze over the frou-frou contents in the cabin. A grimace followed. I didn’t blame her. This place would’ve given me hives.

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

  Hot damn! I shoved the key in my pocket and ducked out of the cabin to wave at one of the Scooters loitering around the clubhouse entrance. Scooters were what we called the “probationary members” because they were the youngest and least experienced of the recruits. I had my doubts about some of them making it to full members—too much wanna and not enough be—but they were useful as gophers and cleaning crew.

  “Yo, Scooter. C’mere.” A gangly, pimple-faced punk with peach fuzz on his chin galloped over. “I need two or three sturdy boxes taped up and ready to go. Check behind the kitchen. Now.”

  “Yessir.” He bobbed his head and did an about-face, scuttling off toward the clubhouse.

  I stepped back inside and stopped dead. Oriana stood with her back to me, her shoulders hunched and shaking as sobs tore through her body. It was obviously a private moment not meant to be witnessed, but damn if it didn’t rip something in my chest.

  I’d seen women cry lots of times. Some did it to manipulate guys like me into fighting their battles for them. Others had been scared out of their minds, expecting us big, bad bikers to drag them into a back alley and rape them before selling them into the sex trade. Loki didn’t allow sex trafficking, but we didn’t do much to disabuse anyone of the notion. Reputation, and all.

  But watching Oriana, a woman of strength, cry when no one could see her broke open the only white knight tendency I possessed and made me want to roar a battle cry. I’d slay all her dragons and exorcise her demons just to make sure her smile and fire returned. I almost wrapped her in my arms for comfort, but I gritted my teeth and stepped back out the door to give her the privacy she thought she had.

  “Fuck!” I stood beneath the Ponderosa and inhaled the vanilla candle scent like a yoga student doing Pranayama, that breathing thing. It killed me not to do anything for Oriana, but I let the sweet spicy smell calm me down so I didn’t deck the scooter when he returned with the boxes. “Thanks.”

  I straightened my shoulders and headed for the door, making as much noise as possible so Oriana could preserve her cloak of cool before I showed up again. I knew all about saving face and putting up a good front of toughness in this outfit. She didn’t want to be here and she’d been manipulated into it, but she’d make the best of it and kickass while she was at it, I was sure.

  Once I stepped inside, Oriana stood tall and serene as if nothing really bothered her. So her eyes were a little red, but not so anyone would notice.

  “I got you three boxes. Think that’ll be enough to de-pink this place?”

  She snorted and a small smile curled her sexy lips. “I’m not sure anything short of a good bonfire would fix it, but three boxes is a start.”

  In the end, it only took two boxes full of cutsie pink and white kitty shit to return the cabin to its usual cream, brown, and terra cotta (my aunt was a huge Georgia O’Keefe fan—sue me). We both breathed a sigh of relief at the same time and I grinned at her in momentary camaraderie.

  “Better?” I set one of the boxes by the door.

  “Much. I don’t feel so girly anymore.” She nodded as she settled into a chair at the little dinette table beside the window. “Now I can get some serious work done and hopefully solve your money issues in a few days. You can give Mel her crap and she can load the place back up again.”

  “You know, I do
n’t think you’re the girly type.” I leaned against the wall separating the bedroom from the rest of the living space. “Which is good because I’m not into girly women.”

  And just like that, the camaraderie splintered into bright shiny pieces only to wink out of existence.

  “Thanks for the four-one-one, Dr. Phil. I’m not here for your entertainment.” She met my gaze with flames of anger burning beneath her golden irises.

  “Whatever you say, Numbers. Need anything else while I’m here?”

  “Yeah. I need my key and privacy.”

  She held out her hand and damn if I didn’t feel like the queen required me to kiss her ring and swear fealty. I dug the key out of my pocket and brought it to her, stopping in front of her. She stared up at me without flinching, her expression expectant. I placed the key in her palm then flipped it over and brought her hand to my lips, kissing the knuckles. She gasped in surprise and color made her cheekbones rosy.

  “Your key, milady. Chow’s served in the clubhouse starting at six. I’ll save a place for you.” I released her hand and winked before sauntering to the door. I picked up the boxes and left the cabin without a backwards look, but I could feel her eyes burning into my back the whole way out.

  ****

  Oriana

  Thank goodness he’s gone.

  I’d never be able to get anything done with Scott hanging around my cabin. Shit, it had been bad enough when he helped me clear out the cartoonish kitty with a pink bow crap. He smelled like sun-warmed leather and a fresh-scented shampoo they only sell to men, but the marketing worked because I was hooked.

  I sighed and scrubbed my face with my hands. At least he hadn’t seen me break down. Contrary to popular belief, crying wasn’t a sign of weakness, but a release valve for me. If I didn’t cry, I’d pull someone’s automatic pistol and go postal on their asses. Not very conducive to survival or my contractual obligation. But it would feel great.

  Yeah, I didn’t need help from the little devil on my shoulder.

  I sighed and carried my bag into the bedroom, checking to be sure the bed had clean linens. It was made, but given how much cutsie kitty crap there’d been, I didn’t trust it. I stripped the bed and carried the bedding plus the towels from the bathroom out to the main room. They needed to be washed before I used them.

  But I had no idea how they got cleaned. Did the members of the Concrete Angels have a laundry service or maids? Or did they do their own? Was it a central laundry room or did each cabin have facilities?

  “Shit.”

  “Shit goes in the toilet. That looks like laundry.” The snarky feminine voice made me raise my gaze to a woman leaning against the doorjamb of my cabin.

  “Nothing gets past you.” I eyed the dark-haired woman wearing thigh-length cut-offs and an old Iron Maiden T-shirt. “Are there facilities to do our own laundry or is there a service?”

  My visitor smirked, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “Wow, you really are a city girl, aren’t you?”

  I shot her a flat look. “Nope, just trying to figure out how you do things around here. I’m afraid when I was manipulated and abducted out here, I missed the orientation.”

  She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and shrugged. “Yeah, I can see how that might make things tough. Good news is there’s a laundry room on the north side of the clubhouse where we all do our stuff. Communal soap and machines, but individual elbow grease.”

  “Thanks.”

  I started to move past her when she shot out an arm with a red bandana wrapped around her wrist like a thick bracelet.

  “Scuttlebutt is you caught the eye of my brother Scott.” Her dark eyes glittered as the humor left them. “Word to the wise. Don’t hurt him or you’ll answer to me.”

  Anger surged and I raised my chin despite her shorter stature. “Listen up so there’s no confusion. His broken heart isn’t my responsibility. I didn’t come here to hook up with anyone or lead anyone on or fuck anyone. In fact, I didn’t want to come here at all. His lust is his problem. So back the fuck off.”

  “Oh, I can see why he likes you.”

  “Oh for glory’s sake.” I shook my head and pushed past her out the door. “Out. I need to lock up because I don’t trust any of you.”

  “Aw come on.” The woman slid past me as I shut the door behind her. “You don’t trust a pack of Concrete Angels members when you’re livin’ with them?”

  “Not any farther than I could comfortably spit out a dead sewer rat.” I locked the door and pocketed the key.

  She threw back her head and laughed a surprisingly sultry laugh. “Oh, I like you a lot, Numbers.” She held out her hand. “Dollhouse.”

  “What?”

  “My name’s Dollhouse.”

  Out of habit, I took her hand and shook. “Nice to meet you.” What the hell was I saying? It wasn’t nice to meet any of these people.

  “Let me help you with that.” She took an armload of towels and wrinkled her nose. “Damn. How much perfume did Melrose use anyway? Gah.”

  Despite my unease with Dollhouse, I laughed. “I dunno. It kinda reminds me of old ladies who’ve lost their sense of smell.”

  “Yeah, totally. We have to wash these like yesterday.” She hurried to the northern end of the clubhouse, past the gawking junior members of the Concrete Angels who lounged around until someone gave them something to do. A few of them eyed us with the typical male look of appraisal and my gut told me it wouldn’t be long before one of them was stupid enough to make a move on her, me, or both.

  Like the rest of the compound, the laundry room was neat, tidy, and painted. While the floor was concrete, it had been sealed with resin to make it shiny and easy to clean. We staggered inside under our loads and threw them into separate washers. Dollhouse handed me the soap and we started the machines.

  “Why Dollhouse?” I leaned my back against the washer.

  She smirked. “Because I can be anyone I want to be.”

  “Why not ‘Chameleon’ or something like that?”

  Dollhouse shrugged. “Too many syllables for the boys to keep track of. You know how you have to help them.”

  I snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  “Also when I started in the Concrete Angels, I was workin’ in a brothel north of Vegas called Last Dollhouse.” She waved her hand at my look of dismay. “It wasn’t that bad. I had dental and medical coverage, and the johns knew if they fucked with me, management would kick their asses and throw them out. Most of them were truckers who hadn’t seen their old ladies in too long so I often played the part of the woman they missed.”

  “Wasn’t fucking you what they paid for?” I asked dryly.

  “Funny.” She rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t too bad. But when Loki stopped by on his way to wherever, one of his guys got a little stupid and gave me this scar.” She turned and I followed her finger as it traced a thick scar from her collar bone over her shoulder.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah. Not pretty and therefore, not able to work in that field any longer. Loki made up for it, though. He gave me the asshole’s place in the Concrete Angels and traded in his honkin’ Harley for something a little more feminine.” She winked. “I’ve been here ever since. No one fucks with me unless I say it’s okay and the money’s better, too.” She checked the time on the washers. “Come on. Let’s go talk to Neo about your internet access and shit like that. The stuff will be okay here.”

  I followed her back outside and sure enough, the young pups of the gang had converged on our path, waiting for us to show. Some of them were nearly half my age, but I suspected that wouldn’t stop their raging hormones and egos.

  We’d made it almost to the side door when one particularly short and robust punk moved in for a tête-a-tête.

  “Hey, sugar, what’s a pretty thing like you doing here?”

  Aw hell. I’m way too sober for this shit.

  I waited a few heartbeats for Dollhouse to step in and warn him off,
but she seemed to be waiting to see what I’d do.

  “Let’s just stop that right there, all right?” I held up my hand as I looked down at him. I must have had at least six inches on him. “I’m not your sugar or a thing. If you have to address me, you can use the name Hunter. As for what I’m doing here? Working.”

  That was the wrong thing to say because his eyes flared with lust and he licked his lips. “What kind of work does a pretty thing like you do? Something…horizontal?”

  “No, and no, I’m not interested in you. Leave me alone.” I shifted to move around him and he reached out to grab my arm.

  “Now don’t be like that. You look like fair game to me. You’re not wearin’ someone’s patch and the only girls who come here are fresh cunts.”

  I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached. There were so many things wrong with what he’d said that I couldn’t begin to tamp down the rage rising inside me. I didn’t belong to anyone. I wasn’t a ‘fresh cunt’ for him to enjoy, and I wasn’t a prostitute. At least not the sexual variety. I definitely sold my services for money, but they didn’t involve sex with men.

  “Take your hand off me before I cut it off.” I purposely left my voice low and cold as I met his gaze. “If I have to resort to violence, not only will you be physically hurt, but you’ll have to deal with Loki because my contract specifically said if someone sexually harasses me, I get to leave without repercussions. We both signed in blood. You wanna face him after that?”

  “Hey, I’m not sexually harassing you. I’m just bein’ friendly.” He still hadn’t released me.

  I pointedly looked down at his hand and back up to him. “That’s not friendly. Take your hand off me.”

  “Oh, come on, sweet thing. You know you want it.”

  “Oh, shit, Scooter, you didn’t just—” Dollhouse took a step forward.

  I’d had enough. My day had started out as shit and gotten progressively worse. I was done.

  I clamped my free hand onto his where he grasped my arm and squeezed until the bones of his hand ground together. He yelped as I twisted out from under his grip and spun, slamming my elbow into the side of his head. He grunted and fell. I followed him down, yanking his arm behind him until he landed on his face with my knee in his back.